


The Afterman

by paladin_cleric_mage



Category: The OA (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:11:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9872930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladin_cleric_mage/pseuds/paladin_cleric_mage
Summary: When OA wakes up in the white room she softly calls Homer's name.How did he get there?





	

“If I could wake up in a different place,

at a different time,

could I wake up as a different person?”

– Chuck Palahniuk,  _Fight Club_

 

The bodies are stiff by the time he stops crying. There’s bile beside him on the floor. His nose, mouth, chest are crusted over with much of the same. He brings his sleeve to his face to brush it off and sees blood. There is blood on the door he’s leaning against. His head throbs. And his fingertips-- they are raw, nails split and frayed.

How can he be so selfish? Indulging in a self-abusive cry when the others need his help. In this room he can’t reach them, but there’s a chance that the front door was left unlocked, that he can find some way to free them. If he frees them, they can escape together. Find her.

There is a lamp beside the bed. The sun is setting.

He stands slowly, cramped and weak from crying so violently. Breathing in heavy gulps that shook him, bruised his ribs. He’s still shaking as he pads carefully across the room. Imagining her fate won’t help, won’t matter. She can’t die. No one ever truly does. Homer tells himself this.

A sliver of glass wedges into his heel. Panting with the effort of breaking glass, he drops the base of the lamp and walks toward the bed. He shoves the bodies off the bed. They land on the floor with a thump that echoes in his mind, melding with the chorus of other noises. Prairie calling his name, the pluck of Renata’s guitar, Rachel singing. Further off, his coach blowing a whistle. An infant wailing for milk.

Did he experience this? Which life is his? Which end will he meet, how will it differ from the others? He has died so many times, death has long since lost its meaning. It is no longer an end, but a pause. An intermission that sends him back on stage in a different costume, in a different play. Does he want this?

No. But he wants to save them.          

Homer drags the comforter off the bed and throws it over the gaping, glass littered window frame. He braces his weight as he lifts one leg to drape over the ledge, the chorus growing louder as the breeze joins in. The sensation of sound overwhelms him, he can hardly focus on his next move, where to place his hands.

A lock clicks behind him and the chorus suddenly stops.

“What are you doing?”

He looks over his shoulder, meets Hap’s eyes. 

“Get down from there, we need to go see the others. Tell them what happened. What you did wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Homer shrugs.

The Angel Hunter steps closer, studies his subject. “Get down from there. Now.”

“I’m going to set them free,” Homer says resolutely. “And then I’m going to find her.”  

“Don't be ridiculous. You can't. She’s gone.”

The corner of his mouth curls. “No, she isn’t.” He turns away and leans his weight into his palms, knee perched on the windowsill. The cold air of evening finally registers against his clammy skin. For a moment he closes his eyes.  

“The land I built this house on is rocky and uneven. Below that window there's a slope, an outcrop.” Hap takes another step forward. “If you don’t hurt yourself landing, you won’t get back in. Not to save them. And if you manage to run, I will catch you. You will always end up here."

"Maybe you didn't hear me. I'm going to get them out of here. All of us, out of here. Alive."

"Why bother? It isn't bad to be here. Look at what we've discovered. We can make money, save lives. I mean, you're practically immortal, we can teach people how to live forever. We'll be gods.”

Homer turns, balancing precariously. Glass crunches. His smile twists into something venomous. A dried line of red runs from his forehead to his eyebrow, frames his cheek. The mountains in the distance stand behind his back, creating an effect like dark wings jutting from his shoulders. “I know how much we’ve discovered, and how many people we can save. You? You don’t understand a thing about this. You are not part of the we.”

Hap cocks his head slightly, insulted. “Of course I am. I’ve been with you every step of the way.”

"Maybe that's true. You've been with us this whole time. But you have no idea where we're going." 

Homer steadies himself and turns back to freedom. As he swings himself over the ledge, Hap lunges and catches the back of his shirt. There is not enough force to compensate for loss of balance. He won't land on his feet, won't land well at all.

Gravity rips the pale fabric from Hap’s fingers and Homer vanishes. For a moment everything is silent, and then Hap hears it. The impalement of a body on shards of rocks and glass.

Another instance of Homer's death. 

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be the start of a longer theory-concept fic. Not sure if I actually have the wherewithal to complete it. Maybe I will, depending on reactions to this.


End file.
